How To Begin?
by Lunar1
Summary: Based mildly on 'Threads' spoilers. When things have dragged on for so long, just how do you set the world to rights?
1. Not a Date

She sat in front of her dresser, looking at the face reflected in the mirror. Her hair was wrapped in a slightly damp bath towel; her face slightly red from her shower and possessing the slightly unfamiliar quality she always noticed when she viewed her visage without make-up. She was wearing a bath robe, she realised with a prickle of unease, that Pete had bought her.

Laid out on the bed was her new outfit she had spent a casual five minutes browsing for. Everything about tonight had an element of fatigue; the realisation that really, this had been far too long a time in coming. It would have been saddening if she wasn't so apathetic. Two years ago the idea of actually going out socially with Jack O'Neill would have freighted a thrill of excitement. Not so, now.

She opened her bottle of expensive perfume and realised, again, it had been a gift from Pete. The stab of faint guilt, never far from her these days, twisted in her chest again. She put the bottle down and instead selected a far cheaper body-spray a well-meaning Cassie had bought for her, insisting it was a 'younger' smell and apparently not realising her insult. She held down the button, deliberating how long to spray; walking the fine line between smelling wonderful and smelling like a Parisian brothel. The realisation of her deliberation cheered her slightly. On a subconscious level, perhaps she cared more about tonight than she thought.

She dressed carefully but quickly, pursing her lips at her reflection before adjusting hemlines, tightening the belt. The dress was of a different style to ones she normally selected, hopelessly modern and yet harking back to a classier era. It had a halter neck, which Cassie had assured her would slim her broad shoulders. She frowned, wondering when an eighteen year old had assumed responsibility for her wardrobe and why she hadn't noticed.

She slipped her robe back on over her clothes as she did her make-up, not wanting to spill powder on the red fabric. Pulling it off, she removed the towel and fixed her hair, as best she could. Day-to-day maintenance of her Air-Force regulated locks was easy, but at the cost of looking as she would perhaps have liked on these sadly rare occasions she went out socially.

Another critical assessment of her reflection resulted only in another twitch of a hemline. Then she picked up her shoes and left the room.

* * *

He ran his fingers, coated in hair gel, lightly through his greying hair. Definitely getting thinner, these days. Definitely an encroaching forehead. The fact that he was no longer bound by regulation to cut his hair short hadn't stopped him from still doing it. He sniffed at his shirt again, not sure if he was entirely happy with the scent of his new deodorant. Another recommendation by Cassie. Since entering college the teenager seemed to have become resident expert on everything, which would have been annoying if she hadn't the Carter-ish tendency of being right all the time. Jack considered this a bad thing for a teenager. When he was eighteen he'd been a fool, but he'd still _thought_ he knew everything there was to know. Only experience had taught him the opposite was true. The fact that Cassie was so rarely proved wrong couldn't be good for her ego.

He sighed, rinsing the hair product off his fingers and absent-mindedly wiping them dry on his jeans. He checked his watch. Thirty three minutes past the hour. His taxi was late, but that was okay, because he wasn't quite ready yet. He checked the contents of his wallet and shoved it into his pocket; along with the key-chain his house-key was hooked to.

The taxi pulled up and he switched off all the lights apart from that in his front room, stepping outside and locking the door. He got into the cab, relaxing back into the unusually comfortable seat.

The driver sniffed and O'Neill made a mental note to throw away the deodorant when he got home. "Where to?"

"Uh, Johnssons' please."

Another sniff. "Meeting someone?"

"Several someones," O'Neill replied as evasively as possible.

The cab driver got the message and switched on his radio. "You don't mind...?" he added in concession to his fare as it searched for his selected station.

O'Neill shook his head.

* * *

Carter was apparently the first to arrive at the steak house where they had agreed on beginning their evening. She sat at the bar, ordered a drink. She was poking the ice with her straw when she felt warm breath on her ear, making the tiny hairs tingle.

"Evening," O'Neill said quietly, requiring the close proximity to be heard over the bar noise.

"Evening Jack," she replied as he slipped into the seat next to her. He smiled at her remembrance to address him by name rather than former title.

"The others not here yet?"

"Apparently not. Unless they've been camped out in the restrooms for the past ten minutes."

O'Neill smiled at her joke but didn't laugh. He ordered a Guinness and took a deep sip when it arrived.

The shroud of awkwardness was upon them again, they both realised as they intermittently stared and sipped at their drinks. "You look nice," O'Neill ventured when the awkwardness reached a hithero undiscovered level.

"Thanks."

More silence.

"You know, it's funny isn't it. On base we can talk about anything and suddenly..." O'Neill trailed off, looking guilty, as if he hasn't meant to say the words aloud.

"Funny," she said, beginning to smile.

"So how are things?"

Her smile disappeared. "Oh you know. Awkward. Seems to be a theme in my life at the moment."

O'Neill nodded, cursing himself for sticking his foot straight into his mouth. "I remember... dividing things up that you bought together. It's hard."

Her mouth opened slightly, as if she was about to say something but had changed her mind. In truth, she had forgotten that O'Neill had been divorced.

O' Neill put his hands flat on the slightly sticky wooden bar top, and she suddenly became intensely aware of her previously un-regarded hand, now in such close proximity to his that she could feel the warmth of the blood flowing through his veins.

His little finger touched hers and he met her eyes, his head held at an angle, the words on the tip of his tongue but remaining unutterable. She willed him to say them with every fiber of her being when-

"Hey!"

-- Daniel was wading his way towards them, Teal'c following in his wake. She dropped her gaze, looking at the ring of condensation left from her glass on the bar as Jack sighed.


	2. Thunder and Lightning

Carter stepped down from the plinth the 'gate on P3Z-609 was mounted on, scanning the surrounding area with a practised eye. The ground stretched away to the horizon, pancake flat in every conceivable direction. There were animals grazing in the distance, quadrupedal and horned. The grass was waist height and she could feel the razor edges of the individual blades slicing against her trousers. As she moved through the grass occasionally the point of a blade would stab her, drawing blood.

"Nice place," Daniel remarked dryly.

She nodded. "MALP readings indicate naquada deposits a two klicks away."

Daniel winced. "So... what happened after we left last night?"

"Nothing," she replied evenly.

Chancing a glance sideways she saw he was looking at her skeptically. "Nothing?"

"Nothing," she repeated, starting to laugh.

"Oh," he said, sounding vaguely disappointed.

"You're worse than Cassie," she informed him.

"Probably."

_They had sat on a low wall outside the bar while she waited for her cab. "So, have you had good night?"_

_"Not bad."_

Daniel saw her smile take on a slightly misty edge and formed his own (quite incorrect) conclusions about what had happened after he had dragged Teal'c away.

_"Not bad..." The words had seemed to hang in the air. She had shivered. "You cold?"_

_"A bit."_

_He had hesitated, won some inner battle and, uncharacteristically timid, put an arm around her bare shoulders. For a moment, the breath had caught in her throat. Then the memory of another arm, another man, surfaced and she felt the twinge of guilt again. _

She blinked bringing herself back to the present. They were wandering too far east and she took a bearing and altered their course. The grass was shorter now, no longer ripping at her fingers, only sporadically stabbing her knees.__

_Her cab, with timing she should be used to by now, had pulled up. She had stood, ending her moment of guilty pleasure, and he had grinned at her; waiting for her to say... something._

_"I guess I'll see you tomorrow."_

_"As we work together," he had replied quickly, his normal self once more, "I'd say that's pretty likely. You have a briefing at oh-seven-hundred."_

_Somehow the mention of work, of the SGC and the military way he had reminded her of the time made her feel sad. "Yeah I know."_

_The cab-driver had sighed impatiently._

_"See you then," he had said, standing himself._

_"Good night si-Jack."_

_"Goodnight Carter," he had said, half-laughing._

_Their was an infinitesimally long moment and then she turned away to get into the waiting car and at the same moment he grabbed her arm. He planted a kiss on her cheek softly, his hold on her arm betraying his nervousness, at odds with the gentleness of his kiss._

_"Goodnight, Sam."_

Realising her smile was growing out of control she once again forced her errant mind to focus on the job in hand.

* * *

It took twenty minutes to locate where the deposit ran close enough to the surface for SG-1 to be able to dig out samples from the topsoil. As they unpacked their tools the dark clouds began racing across what had been an azure blue sky. Carter surveyed them worriedly. The air was growing clammy with a wet heat.

"Let's get this done quickly, guys," she said, "I don't like the look of those clouds."

"We're not bothered by a little rain, Sam," Daniel smiled.

"I know," she returned, smiling back despite her anxiety. The tiny hairs all over her body were standing on end. The air began to taste like hot tin.

After ten minutes she estimated they had enough ore for the present. Hastily cramming it into their packs, the first ominous growls of thunder could be heard. She swore under her breath.

"Back to the 'gate," she ordered. The two men needed no urging as rain began to splatter their faces, cold and fat droplets of water.

The clammy heat was fast dissipating, driven away by roaring winds that waved the saw-grass, causing it to whip their legs and bare hands viciously. All of them were bleeding when the first visible bolt of lightning rent the sky; a vivid fork of yellow fire that burned itself into the back of the eyeball and flashed in their field of vision for several moments after it faded. The sky was the colour of brass.

"Run!" Carter yelled as the first wave of heavy rain beat down on them. The water was driven by the rushing wind into their faces so hard it stung. The 'gate still seemed impossibly far away as another crack tore the sky. It started to hail.

Pellets of ice ricocheted off their bodies, faces and packs, drawing blood and bruising. The thunder was an ever present assault on the eardrum as lightning stabbed again and again. With a thrill of horror Carter realised the storm was drawing closer. The lightning would seek out the three of them, being the tallest object (bar the 'gate) for literally miles around, laced with metal.

"EVERYBODY DOWN!" she screamed. Teal'c heard and obeyed. Daniel hesitated for a moment, loathe to further tear his skin in the grass. Then realisation struck him and he fell onto his stomach as if he had already been struck by a bolt.

Carter crawled on her elbows to the men, the grass opening a slash across her cheeks and forehead. Her hands were running with blood.

"We'll have to crawl to the 'gate!" she shouted above the din of the weather.

It was torturous progress, the grass doing untold damage to their hands, knees and faces; the assault by the thundering heavens almost too brutal to bear.

After what seemed like a hellish eternity, they reached the DHD. Carter reached up gingerly, confident now the Stargate would be a more likely target for the lightening rather than themselves and began dialing home.

The noise of the 'gate was lost in the storm but a familiar _whoosh_ signaled that the wormhole had engaged as normal. Teal'c was already up and running, jumping onto the plinth and sending the GDO signal. The others followed him, Carter making sure that Teal'c and Daniel were already on route before she herself leapt into the shimmering event horizon, as a good commander should.

As she jumped she was aware of the ground rumbling, a tremendous sensation of pressure.

As she disappeared through the event horizon the bolt of lightning struck the 'gate, great caterpillars of crackling blue energy leaping from chevron to chevron.

Daniel was expecting to land on the ramp in the 'gate room. Instead, he found himself flying out of the 'gate. Time seemed to slow as he fell ungracefully to the concrete floor; he had more than enough time to take in the horrified expressions of the people operating the dialing computers before he smacked into the ground.

As his scream of pain rent the air Teal'c came through the 'gate. Being heavier than Daniel his flight path was shorter: he hit the ramp hard and rolled to the base of the metal grate, lying utterly still.

As he rolled, Carter burst from the event horizon, flying as Daniel had and landing on the concrete as the medical team burst through the doors with their stretchers. She stood up shakily. "I'm okay," she murmured as a medic began fussing over her.

She caught sight of O'Neill who had run from his office to the 'gate room.

"I'm okay," she repeated.

He simply stared blankly at her as she wiped the water off her forehead, before it dripped in her eyes. She gaped in shock at her hand which came away berry red with blood.


	3. Smiling

She opened her eyes and couldn't quite suppress a moan of pain. Her arms and face were stinging with pain, like a thousand paper-cuts concentrated on a agonizingly small area.

"Hey."

She blinked and a pinkish blur at the foot of her bed in the infirmary resolved itself into Jack O'Neill, an intense look in his dark eyes. She wondered how long he had been sitting there, watching her dream.

"Hey," she replied and he smiled.

"You look terrible," he informed her, mirroring her expression.

She chuckled softly. "I feel it."

He stood up and moved to her side. Her breath caught in her throat despite herself as he reached a hand out towards her, touching her hair gently, stroking it away from her face. "Daniel and Teal'c are going to be okay. Daniel has a couple of fractured ribs, a dislocated elbow and a broken wrist, Teal'c got a broken leg and a concussion."

Carter winced. "Ouch. I think I got off fairly lightly."

He made no answer, electing to smile at her instead. He didn't move his hand, his thumb tracing the lines on her forehead with skin-tingling gentleness. "You looked pretty fantastic last night," he murmured after a few moments.

She hadn't smiled this much in days! "You weren't looking so bad yourself."

There was another pause. "Carter...?"

"Mmm?"

Her breath hitched for a second time as he swooped downwards to plant the lightest of kisses on her forehead. She was still blinking in shock when he straightened, the ghost of a long-forgotten cheeky grin haunting his face. "I'm glad you're okay."

She wondered if his heart was thumping as hard as his, if her face had taken on the slight red flush his had adapted. She wanted to say something witty, something clever that could acknowledge how wonderful she found those tiny touches of his lips, illicit and longed for for time immemorial, and yet still allow her to sound casual, cool and unaffected, unflustered by this startling development.

She decided no sentence, no _paragraph_ even could achieve that and settled instead for: "Me too!" She sounded more breathless than she would have liked and his grin became more than a mere shade.

"I better..." He left the sentence unfinished but she knew what he alluded to. Being the civilian commander of the SGC didn't alter the amount of paperwork he was expected to complete. He had work to do, she had rest she needed to take.

As much as she wanted to she would _not _allow herself to reflexively call out and ask him not to leave.

But she did allow herself an ear to ear smile. That was only fair, she thought.


	4. Visiting Hours

He threw down his pen in disgust, realising he'd spent the last fifteen minutes staring into space--no, not space; rather, the inside of his own head--and clicking his biro. He had reports to read and file, an important memo he needed to complete and send to Hammond. The Haralian ambassador would be arriving on Wednesday and he had to make sure the VIP quarters were decorated with the correct coloured drapes--

He sighed, frustrated and put his head in his hands. _Things used to be so simple. _He rubbed his forehead. _I was a soldier. A man of action. Now I push paper. I'm not a commander I'm a... a manager. I move reports around and give orders and let my teams, my _friends,_ go through that 'gate while I stay here and _negotiate_ with stupid diplomats and pompous leaders. _

_I wasn't there for them. _

_I wasn't there for _her.

_What if they had died...?_

Unwarranted and unwanted ice filled his stomach.

_What if I had lost her?_

He regained some composure and shuffled some files.

_You haven't. They're safe. All of them. This time._

_What about next time?_

He laid the files down carefully.

He tapped his fingers on the desk for a moment.

He leaned back in his chair and put his hands on his legs, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling of his office.

He sighed again.

_Why is this so hard? Why can't I say... things... I want to say?_

There was a tentative knock on his office door and he dragged himself back into reality. "Come in."

It was Walter. "Sir. I've bought the latest batch of reports for you."

"Thank you."

The sergeant sidled out.

He picked up the first of the new reports tentatively, and regarded it for a moment. Losing some internal battle, he picked up his discarded pen and started work again.

Carter lay on her sofa, bored senseless and more than a little miserable. Her face was scabbed and sore and her bruises ached dully. She knew she ought to feel grateful that she wasn't in a wheelchair like Teal'c, or wincing at the pain of broken ribs with her arm bound in a sling like Daniel, but after two days of total isolation, bar the occasional telephone conversation, she was feeling pretty depressed. She didn't think she could face the stares of the world, with her skin still healing from its ordeal at the blades of the saw-grass and she knew her appearance on base would warrant an angry Jack O'Neill ordering her home again but she was beginning to think it might be worth the risk, before she died of boredom.

_And of course, it might remind Jack I actually exist._

She frowned at the alien thought, so unlike her normal self. Jack was probably busy or... busy. What right did she had to make demands on his time? What did it matter if he had completely failed to contact her and ask how she was feeling...?

She pummelled the cushion angrily and wondered how much therapeutic value she could obtain from a tub of Ben & Jerry's she knew was secreted in her freezer...

The sound of a car pulling up on her drive made her pause in her rootling for the elusive tub five minutes later. Curiously she peered through the spy-hole.

Her heart sunk.

Pete Shanahan was standing on her doorstep, a firm expression on his face. He rang the doorbell.

She opened her door warily. He blinked in surprise at her face.

"What happened?" he asked, tenderness in his voice, the frown dissipating. He reached a hand out to touch her cheek.

She recoiled from his touch, mouth compressed into a stony line. "An accident off world. I'll be fine. It won't scar."

He dropped his hand, the determined look returning as he heaved a sigh. "I'm glad. I came to pick up some stuff."

She nodded and moved aside so her could move past her, inside. The remaining boxes of his things were piled at the bottom of the stairs. He hefted them into his broad arms and paused for a moment.

His dark eyes rested on hers for a moment and she felt ill. "What happened to us, Sam?" he whispered.

She looked at her feet, feeling as if she might cry.

"I'm sorry."

"That's not an answer."

She met his gaze again, angrily. "It's the best I'm able to give. Was there anything else you wanted?"

He recognised the way her chin jutted out when she was at her most determined, and felt an overwhelming sadness well up within him. "Yes," he replied, smiling lopsidedly and she was left uncomfortably aware of his barely veiled meaning.

"Goodbye."

"Take care of yourself Sam."

The door slammed shut after him and a tear slipped from under her eyelashes down her torn cheeks.


	5. Debate

O'Neill sat in his truck on the SGC parking lot. He'd been sat completely still for twenty minutes, his fingers lightly tapping against the steering wheel as he contemplated his next course of action.

He reminded himself for the sixteenth time that visiting an injured Carter had_ never_ been illegal.

Bringing her flowers would be a thoughtful and kind thing to do. It didn't necessarily _mean_ anything. After all, women gave other women flowers, didn't they? Children bought flowers for their mothers on mother's day. The giving of flowers was not an obvious indication of a deep desire to begin a relationship.

But he'd never bought her flowers before.

So flowers were a bad idea...

He'd gone round with a pizza and some movies before.

_And a chaperone in the guise of Teal'c._

He winced at the memory.

_Carter came to visit you alone,_ he reminded himself.

_She _did_ think you were about to die._

_Slight difference in the situations then, perhaps._

He sighed. "I love her," he said aloud, "And I _think_ she loves me. Likes me, anyway. Maybe."

He paused. The crux of the matter was, he thought, the fact that he always found it tremendously easy to be effortlessly cool around women he was attracted to. It was when he found himself immersed in much deeper emotions than pure physical attraction and friendly liking that he found he had all the decisiveness and charm of a startled rabbit caught in the headlamps of an oncoming car.

He'd always wonder how the hell he'd ever managed to get Sara to marry him, because whenever they'd met up he'd invariably opened his mouth and inserted his foot straight into it. And it was so much _worse_ with Carter, because, well... she was Carter. They worked together. She knew parts of him better than Sara ever had. She was his friend.

_And she is so much smarter than I am._

He glanced at the car clock. He'd been thinking for thirty minutes and if he didn't drive off soon the security guards were going to get _really_ suspicious about exactly what he was doing in his vehicle. He turned the key in the ignition and pulled away, still with no clear idea of exactly where he was going.

It wasn't until he passed the turning for his own home that he realised he was unthinkingly driving to Carter's house. He considered pulling over and turning around, but the traffic was heavy and besides, he'd spent plenty of time with Teal'c and Daniel on base over the past two days. He was simply fulfilling his duties as a good friend by going to see how she was.

So he pulled over at the pizza place and ordered a take-out and bought some flowers at a gas station, too. Just in case.

* * *

The tub of Ben and Jerry's had transpired to have been a casualty of Cassie's last visit home. She was considering risking a trip to the local supermarket when–

_Brriinnggg!_

She gulped nervously and the cursed herself for being so ridiculous. If Pete had come back she would simply tell him, politely and firmly, to leave.

She padded over to the door, wondering if her face was still red from the few tears she had shed after her ex-fiancé had left. She wasn't really sure who she had been crying for, herself or Pete, but the aching sadness had passed, consumed by her sobs.

She opened the door.

Jack O'Neill, a slightly wilting bunch of flowers (that looked fresh from a gas station forecourt) between his teeth and two pizza boxes and a DVD balanced precariously in his arms was reaching out to ring the doorbell again.

"Ar. Tho oo ar in en."

She felt the smile stretch from ear to ear, and took the flowers from his mouth.

"So you _are_ in then," he repeated, mirroring her grin. His smile faded a little as he took in the finer details of her face. "Are you okay?"

She felt a blush creep into her already reddened cheeks. "I'm fine," she said, a little too forcefully, "Pete came round to pick some stuff up. That's all."

His smile drained. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No, no. He left a while ago now..."

"And you were upset about him going?" he asked shrewdly.

She found she couldn't look away from him, her eyes trapped by his. "Not exactly. Just... oh, I don't know." _I realised how lonely I am without someone. Again._

"Do you want me to leave you the pizza and head home?"

There was an infinitesimal pause. "No. I'd love to eat junk food with you," she said, the smile edging back. She moved aside to let him past, giving the flowers another critical examination. "Are these for me?"

He gave her a grey look. "No. They're for Teal'c." When she looked surprised he felt moved to add more softly, "Of course they're for you."

She chuckled at his joke and guided him through to her kitchen. He put the pizza boxes down as she searched for a vase. "Did I see a DVD earlier?" she queried as the filled the only available vase with water.

"Yeah. Uh. It was in my truck. Teal'c left it in there."

She put the flowers into the water, wiped her damp hands absently on her jeans and stood beside him, picking up the DVD box.

"The Lord of the Rings trilogy?"

He coughed. "Unfortunately. I think this trilogy may be replacing Star Wars when it comes to... uh... T's obsessive tendencies."

"I've never seen them. I loved the books when I was younger but I never got around to watching the films."

"Well, I'll leave it with you then while you're recovering."

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly paper dry. "We could start watching them now. If you like. Make a start on these pizzas...?"

He smiled again, the gentle and almost boyish smile she so rarely saw, these days. "Sounds great."

He was too close, smiling in that way, she was too aware of her body and _far _too aware of his, of her burgeoning blush, of the lightest dusting of stubble across his top lip...

He leaned forward to kiss her, but changed his mind as her eyes widened in shock and pulled back awkwardly, just as she leaned forward to meet him.

Her blush deepened with embarrassment and he looked at his feet for a moment. _Nothing_ was ever simple when it came to Carter!

"Uh..." he gulped, working up the courage to finish his sentence, "Um... can I try that again?"

She went _rigid_ with shock this time, thankfully allowing him to successfully brush her lips with his own. Regaining control of her body she touched his wrists and he stepped closer, until she was so near to him she could feel his warmth; should he choose to put his arms around her, she would be in his embrace.

And then he did put his arms around her, his kiss deepening from the chaste touch of lips on lips to the encapsulation of her entire mouth, his tongue gently brushing against hers. She in turn responded passionately, sliding her arms underneath his and putting her palms against his back as if to reassure herself that he was here, this was real...

And this was _wonderful._


	6. Awkwardness

He broke away, his lips lingering on hers, two spots of colour burning in his cheeks that had nothing to do with embarrassment. He was too breathing too deeply and too quickly, his dark eyes burning with an emotion she had never before seen in them, something he buried too deeply to ever show her until this moment.

She reached for his collar, intending to pull him back towards her for a second try.

_Brriiinggg!_

"If that's Daniel...."

He laughed out loud.

_Brriinggg! Brrriiiinnnggg!_

"You going to answer that?"

She sighed. "I probably should. Can you take the pizzas through and set up the DVD player?"

He grinned, picking up the boxes and disappearing into the other room.

She padded across her hallway, unable to stop the smile from breaking out across her face and wondering if she had ever felt this happy in her entire life up to this point.

She pulled open the door.

"He's here, isn't he?"

Her smile disappeared. "Pete?"

"I came back to see if you were okay..." He seemed on the verge of tears.

"If it's Daniel, tell him he's definitely interrupting so–" O'Neill stopped as he entered the hallway and saw Pete.

Carter felt every muscle in her body tense.

"Shanahan." O'Neill said after a moment's pause.

"O'Neill." The word dripped with distaste.

_You bastard. I loved her with all my heart and you _stole _her from me. You bastard!_

The General folded his arms, matching the policeman stare for stare. "I was just leaving," Pete said after another measured pause. His eyes flickered for a moment to his ex-fiancé, and she read his thought as clearly as if he had spoken it.

_Traitor._

He turned away and into the night. She shut the door and stared at her feet, unable to turn around and look at O'Neill.

His hand touched her shoulder, spinning her around and pulling her back into the embrace she had not wanted to leave to open the damn door in the first place.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled into his chest, "He..."

_He watches my house._

She found she could not finish the sentence. How on earth could she say the words and not make Pete sound like a deranged stalker?

She didn't want Jack to think of him that way, to think of _her _that way for letting such a man into her life. He _wasn't _that kind of man. He had loved her, still did and she had hurt him. She could empathise, maybe even understand his odd actions.

O'Neill kissed her neck, demanding no explanation. "I should probably go..."

She hesitated, the twin desires of wanting to hide from the world and wanting to be with him and reclaim their brief moment of non-awkwardness battling.

"No... I'll never manage all that pizza by myself." She managed a small grin as she pulled away from his chest.

"They're probably cold by now..."

"I have a microwave."

* * *

"And then what happened?" Daniel demanded.

O'Neill, leaning against the archeologist's desk and distracting him from the translation he was supposed to be working on, sighed, a frustrated look crossing his features.

"Well... we watched the movies."

"And...?"

"And... nothing. It was... all awkward again. I left after the Fellowship finished."

Daniel huffed, pushing his glasses up his nose with his good hand.

"I will never understand you. Or Sam for that matter."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you'd rather die than live without her..."

"Yes?"

"She'd rather die than be without you..."

"And? So? Therefore?" O'Neill started fiddling with what looked like a lump of granite, apparently acting as Daniel's paperweight.

"I'm just not understanding how things can 'get all awkward again.' Don't mess with that."

O'Neill put it down. "Sorry."

"I mean how difficult can it be, really? I want you, I need you, I love you, please marry me."

O'Neill shifted uncomfortably. "I dunno."

"You want my advice Jack? If you really love Sam, seize every opportunity with both hands. You don't get to choose how long you have to spend with someone you love. Be grateful and thankful for every minute. You never know when it's going to be snatched away from you."

Jack felt his gaze drift to Daniel's framed picture of Sha're. He realised who Daniel was referring to but felt moved to speak.

"I've lost things I've loved too, Daniel. I'm scared of losing them again."

"There's truth in the old saying 'tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all," countered Daniel.

"Maybe."

"Certainly. Invite her out for dinner. Be romantic."

There was silence for a while. Daniel waited patiently for Jack to voice the next issue concerning him.

"You do approve of me and Sam, don't you?"

Daniel gave him a piercing glance. "I do now. I haven't always."

O'Neill's eyebrow's quirked in surprise. "Really?"

"Mmm. When we first started out as SG-1. I could tell you were attracted to her and I... well, I didn't like it very much. I thought you were looking at her like she was a _thing _rather than the wonderful person she really was. But I came to realise all that macho bravado is just a front you put on when confronted with women that fluster you, that you cared deeply for the woman underneath. And after the za'tarc testing... well... my guesses were confirmed." He thought for a second and then added: "Teal'c's always thought you make a great couple. Long before I did."

"I'm shocked."

"Good."

"Dinner you reckon?"

"You can never go wrong with a romantic meal."

"Can you imagine me and Carter on a... a date like that though?"

"Well... no. Not if you keep calling her Carter certainly."

"Damn! Do I still do that? I forget..."


	7. First Date

Normally, Jane really hated Friday night shifts. The up-market restaurant was always a little slice of hell, busier than a dead dog on an anthill and twice as nasty. Waitress appreciation was generally severely lacking and she was rushed off her aching feet. By nine o'clock she had normally developed a tension headache, dropped at least one plate or burnt herself in the relative privacy of the kitchens.

But tonight she was serving a couple so touchingly romantic, that a smile touched even her cynical lips.

From her eighteen year old's perspective, they were quite old, not at all the kind of people she'd normally associate with ridiculously over romanticised notions of love. But there was something in the way their fingers brushed when reaching for the water jug, in the way the man watched his dinner partner with a dark-eyed intensity when she was reading her menu, in the way their feet were almost-but-not-quite touching under the table that made her feel, for once, that there was some love still left in the world, and that romance didn't die past forty. She wasn't a flirt herself but she enjoyed watching the attribute in other people, and it was somehow endearing, how _bad_ this couple were at it. Their lack of subtly, their unabashed staring when the other wasn't looking, was pleasant to watch. There were no hidden intentions in their actions, no calculated purpose or planning, just sheer attraction.

Having grown used to serving un-happily married couples, high powered businessmen and their associates (and mistresses), seeing something as pure as their cack-handed flirtation and soft glances was akin to finding a jewel of rare quality in a spoil heap. She put extra cream on their desserts.

O'Neill watched Carter spoon the last of her apple pie delicately into her mouth. He knew it was rude to stare, especially when she was eating, but to the mild horror of the dwindling, sardonic part of himself, he couldn't stop. The dainty way she put the spoon in her mouth was hypnotic....

... not to mention mildly erotic. It was wonderfully tantalising to know that in this public setting her could not, bound by the rules of common decency, do anything other than brush her hand occasionally, or bump her feet with his under the table.

_Oh good grief. Get a grip, Jack O'Neill. You're fifty, not fifteen._

She smiled at him, one of her shy-starting grins that he'd always loved to induce in her, and he was irretrievably lost, the rock hard core of cynicism deep within him folding its arms sullenly and conceding defeat in the face of ludicrously saccharine sweetness. Tonight was not the right time for smart-alec O'Neill to put his foot in it and ruin everything.

He paid the bill and heavily tipped the waitress, who kept grinning at them in a most disconcerting way, before offering his arm to his date. "Shall we go?"

She took his arm, his stomach lurching as her fingers curled around his bicep, her perfume gradually filling his world. It was cold outside and she held him more tightly, a welcome thief of his warmth.

She sat on his passenger seat and he took another opportunity to appreciate her outfit. There were still faint, healing scratches on her arms (the ones on her face were rendered invisible by her make-up) but they didn't detract from her dress. He'd barely been able to keep his eyes in their sockets when she'd opened the door. It wasn't the revelation of her figure, nearly always hidden in BDUs on base, although the clinging red material _did_ accentuate every curve; it was the fact that this amazing, beautiful, intelligent woman had actually agreed to dinner with _him._

He made a mental note to profess undying gratitude to Daniel the following morning, because whatever happened from here on in, the first three hours of his night had been enough to render him the happiest he had felt in time-out-of-memory.

He leaned across and kissed her cheek, earning himself a lop-sided look of confusion. He knew she was wondering what prevented him from kissing her lips but he couldn't have articulated it, even if he had wanted to. There was something so much _sweeter_ about kissing her cheek and he oh-so-desperately wanted to be sweet tonight, to distance himself as far as possible from General O'Neill, in order to become ever so slightly goofy plain old Jack. His darkness, his sarcasm, his lust; he wanted to push them all away and allow himself to be consumed by the sheer unadulterated love that burnt brighter than a flame inside him.

He knew that wasn't going to happen, of course, that the darkness and negativity was as much a part of him as the wackiness and frivolity, but he wanted to pretend for a while he could be the perfect man. The kind of man Sam Carter deserved.

She stared at him, and he stared back, his zany smile fading again and the intense look reclaiming his eyes. Carter realised she preferred that look; the lunatic grin reminded her perversely of her ex-fiancé when he was in one of his 'excited puppy' moods.

_Or was it Pete that reminded you of Jack?_ her thoughts prodded her uncomfortably.

After the end of their relationship, she had come to realise the common threads that bound the two men together; the smart humour and occasional bursts of mad exuberance, the occasional flashes of anger and frustration.

The intense look was something unique to Jack O'Neill. She liked that.

She realised he was waiting for her to speak. She gulped nervously, used to Jack making decisions and telling her what to do.

_You've always called the shots in this relationship,_ she reminded herself. _You were the one that asked to leave it in the room. You were the one who decided to move on after the advice of a hallucination..._

_... My life is beyond weird..._

"Where to now?"

His lips twitched, laughing inside at her cleverness at deflecting the decision back onto him.

"That's up to you."_ Take that Sam Carter._

Her lips mirrored the movement of his. _Damn you, Jack O'Neill. _"Coffee?" she asked.

"Your place?"

He was offering her a way out, she realised, a get out of jail card for later should she decided to change her mind about his presence. She nodded, grateful for his grace, never once considering that fact that Jack might be absolutely terrified about the prospect of more than a quick cuppa, quaking in his boots at the thought of taking this still ethereal seeming relationship, if that was what it was, past the tentative stage it had reached previous to this moment.

He started his truck and pulled away.

* * *

He clutched his coffee cup like a chastity belt, sipping it intermittently as she chattered to him about Cassie's progress at college.

"It's still awkward, isn't it?"she said suddenly, interrupting herself in mid-flow about Cassie's unsuitable boyfriend.

He gripped the coffee cup tightly for a second, nearly spilling the scalding liquid as every muscle tensed involuntarily.

He blew out his cheeks, avoiding eye contact before he spoke. "...A little."

It was her turn to sigh. "I'm sorry..."

"It's not your fault. It's just... things are always so much easier when I can–"

"Look but not touch?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "Not exactly."

She looked away, embarrassed. "That's how I feel. I mean, it was _great_ in the restaurant... but now you're here and this is _real_ and really happening..."

"Now it's awkward," he agreed, carefully putting down the coffee cup and placing his hands on his knees.

"I hate the fact it's always awkward," she said suddenly, "I wish it could–"

"_Not_ be awkward?"

"Yeah. But it always is."

He tipped his head back to stare at her ceiling.

"Maybe there's some truth in what Daniel was telling me..."

His head snapped back up. "Telling you about _what?_"

"About us." She smiled in a guilty kind of way.

"Hmm. What would that be?"

"That repressing things for so long can't have been healthy and that he thinks we have some sort of complex about admitting feelings for one another."

_Great. Doctor Jackson turns his hand to amateur psychology. What's worse is he's probably right._

"Maybe he's got a point...?" he suggested tentatively.

"We do always seem to try and.... talk about things in life or death situations," she agreed, an element of relief in her voice.

"Or under duress," he added, trying not to think about her expression on that day four years ago when he had spoken those eleven great and terrible words:

_I care about her... a lot more than I'm supposed to._

He was still lost in unpleasant memories when she kissed him suddenly. He found his mouth moving with hers as if no longer under his control, the electric touch of her tongue on his flipping some sort of switch in his hindbrain and switching off all conscious thought and worry. Instinctively he bought his hand up to gently touch her face, reassuring himself that this was really happening, the other hand gently clasping around her arm just above her elbow.

"Is this awkward?" she asked, her mouth still so close to his that he felt her lips brush his own.

"No," he replied, before leaning inwards for another kiss. He sank forward, not entirely sure if he was gently pushing her downwards with the force of his kisses or if she was drawing him inevitably lower by moving slowly sofa-wards.


	8. Debrief

"So...? What happened last night?"

She looked up from the experiment she was running, to see Daniel and Teal'c filling the doorway of her lab.

"Not what you think," she replied, grinning mischievously.

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "And what would that be?"

They sat on the opposite side of her desk, Teal'c manoeuvring awkwardly with his crutches, and she hastily saved the document on her laptop, lest some computer disaster should occur when she was momentarily distracted by her not entirely unexpected visitors and she should lose half an hour's work.

"Can't you guys go and pester Jack? I have tests to run."

"O'Neill is trapped in a meeting regarding expenditure and is not to be disturbed," Teal'c informed her.

"Ouch."

"Indeed."

"So...?" asked Daniel after a beat of contemplative, sympathetic silence.

She chuckled. "Daniel..."

"What? You can't tell me that if Janet was still with us you wouldn't be sharing every intimate detail with her. We're simply, uh, acting in the spirit of the _very _dear departed."

His eyes were slightly over-bright as he finished, but for once Carter found the grief that normally rose to take over her throat on the mention of the Doctor's name was absent, in its place a soft and thankful smile. Daniel had an uncanny knack for saying things, that in other people's mouths might have sounded wrong, rightly.

"I guess you're right..."

"Good."

"There's nothing much to tell though, really..."

"Samantha," Teal'c assured her, her name sounding odd when issued from his lips, "We can assure you that nothing you reveal to us will leave this room."

She looked from one face to another and laughed again. _Who'd have figured Teal'c for a gossip queen? _"Jack took me out for a very nice meal. It was good fun... and we're going out again on Friday."

"That's it?"

She smiled. "That's it."

Daniel surveyed her shrewdly. "Uh-uh. That's not it. Not it by a _long_ shot."

She blushed. "We may have kissed," she muttered before adding quickly, "Slightly."

"Slightly?"

"Slightly... more than previously..." she whispered, nearly mute with embarrassment.

Teal'c touched Daniel's arm lightly. "Daniel Jackson, I believe we are embarrassing Colonel Carter. If she is not willing to tell us the details of further exploits with O'Neill then I believe it is tactful to let dormant canines recline."

"Sleeping dogs lie," Carter said, a smile breaking out on her still red face. "And thank you Teal'c."

"Besides," the Jaffa continued, "I believe O'Neill will be more forthcoming after concluding his meeting regarding expenditure. He is often... excessively communicative after such a gathering."

Daniel snorted with laughter at Sam's indignant expression. "We don't mean to pry Sam. We're just interested. Can you not see it from our point of view? We've been your friends for eight years."

She squeezed the archeologists hand, feeling guilty. "I understand. And... well, you _are_ prying but I can see why you're doing it. But there really is little more to say. We had coffee, kissed, and then Jack went home."

* * *

Daniel was waiting for O'Neill in his office when he finally escaped his meeting.

"Jack."

O'Neill screwed his face up. "Daniel. Don't you have something to be doing?"

"Technically, no. I'm on downtime, having a broken wrist."

O'Neill ignored the momentary stab of guilt. "Well, I _do _have work. If you're wanting the full details of everything that happened last night, go and pester Ca-Sam."

"I already did. She's working on an experiment."

O'Neill sighed. "She shouldn't be. I told her to take it easy."

Daniel smiled ruefully. "When does Sam ever do that? Besides, we were embarrassing her."

"We?"

"Me and Teal'c."

O'Neill sat down heavily in his leather chair. "No wonder."

"Did... everything go alright?" Jackson asked, concern beginning to edge his words.

"Everything was... great..." O'Neill replied, the ghost of a smile touching his lips.

"Only Sam said you went home after the coffee and–"

"And what?!" O'Neill exploded, the frustration of the day finally being unleashed. "You expected us to have sex?"

Daniel visibly flinched. "I never said that–"

"No. But I think it's fair to say you implied it!"

"You didn't then?"

"For cryin' out loud Daniel! It was our _first date_!!"

"Well, technically yes, but you and Sam have known each other for eight years... it's not as if you've only just met and fallen in love."

"Daniel, I still have to concentrate to not call her Carter! She's called me sir twice without thinking. Now is... not the right time. We have to get used to the situation." He paused, considering his next words carefully. "I want it to be perfect," he added softly, "She _deserves_ perfect. Now would... not be perfect. It'd be rushed."

Daniel was silent for a while. "I'm sorry Jack."

The older man hunched his shoulders impatiently. "Oh, don't be. I know I'd think the same if I was sitting where you are." He sighed. "Besides... she makes me nervous. You know how nerves can... act as a passion killer."

Daniel found he was grinning. "I'm glad she makes you nervous. You should be nervous. She's–"

"Way smarter than I am. I know. She's out of my league Daniel."

"I wouldn't say that."

"I _know_ that. Hence nervousness, hence desire for perfection. I... I don't want to lose her."

_You won't. _Daniel knew his words were pointless and left them unsaid. "Where are you going Friday?"

"To see something at the theatre."

"Really?"

"Don't sound so surprised. I'm not quite as uncultured as I look."


	9. Legitimate Excuse

Her bedside clock beeped quietly, proclaiming it late enough on Friday night for it to actually be Saturday morning.

She slid into bed, her house eerily quiet, pulled the bedcovers up to her chin and stared at the dark ceiling.

_How well do I really know Jack O'Neill?_

Apparently, not that well. In eight years she's never once heard him mention his love of the theatre to her. She had been surprised in equal measure to learn of his passion for opera.

Jack O'Neill loved to play the fool and to act stupid. He was showing her the deeper, thoughtful side of his nature that he kept hidden from most of the rest of the world.

_Why does that scare me so much?_

He wasn't the vacuous simpleton he painted himself to be, with his Homer Simpson humour and face-pulling over scientific terms. He was no scientist, but it was dawning on her that in some areas, Jack O'Neill was considerably more 'cultured' than she was.

She'd never been a great theatre lover. She'd always preferred physics to Puccini and shooting to Shakespeare. It was... almost disconcerting to learn that O'Neill, a man with a black-ops file as thick as a sonata-score patronised the high cultural capitals of Colorado while she was secluded in her science laboratory, conducting experiments.

_Being a geek._

She sighed.

_How can I love a man I know so little about?_

She turned over, pulled the covers over her head, and tried to push the thoughts away for consideration at a more sensible time.

_Like tomorrow morning._

* * *

Lying in bed at eleven o'clock in the morning, filled with an apathy that precluded movement, Jack O'Neill was debating internally the difference between romance and stalking.

_Turning up at Cart-Sam's house with a bunch of flowers at midday, despite having no reason for being there..._

_Romantic or obsessive?_

_Phoning her now, just to see how she was, what she was doing..._

_Too pushy, or showing her I'm thinking about her?_

He threw the covers off his bare legs and growled bad temperedly.

He would ring her. He would 'phone her up and tease her about how boring she had found the play last night and hopefully secure another date.

But first he would shower.

Yes. That was a good plan.

Predictably, his cell phone rang just as he was rinsing shampoo out of his hair. Leaving a trail of wet footprints on his carpet and a speckling of water droplets he punched the answer call button on his cell.

"O'Neill."

"Sir, we've got a bit of a problem here..."

* * *

Spending his Saturday at the SGC had _not_ been number one on his list of plans for the weekend.

However, the dialling system's computer crash had presented him with the opportunity two hours of sleepy thinking had not.

It had given him a perfectly legitimate excuse to 'phone Sam Carter _and _spend all afternoon with her.

Admittedly the 'quality time' consisted of watching her, buried in the innards of the computer, and occasionally passing her various tools.

He leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head.

She was lying on her back, the only way she could get inside the workstation the faulty cabling she was trying to locate had been concealed inside. Aesthetically, it was sensible to have the wiring hidden away, and in terms of protecting the staff working at the computers when the wire had burnt out, as well as protecting the cabling from stray bullets or staff blasts should the control room ever be the scene of a fire-fight the hidden wiring had worked well.

It did make repairs more difficult and awkward than they might otherwise have been though, she noted unhappily.

She was also uncomfortably aware that her BDU clad backside was facing O'Neill. Her neck prickled uncomfortably. She felt sure he was watching her...

She peered around her bent knees to see him leaning back in his chair, eyes fixed on the 'gate through the window, a far-away expression having claimed his face.

He grinned.

Glancing left and right to make sure they were alone he met her curious stare. "Give me some credit."

She blushed in spite of herself, cursing his apparent ability to read her mind. "Sorry." She fiddled pointlessly with a wire.

His grin widened. "Credit for not getting caught," he muttered.

The entrance of Sergeant Siler ended their brief moment of banter, although it failed to remove O'Neill's devilish grin.

"Everything seems fine as far as the 'gate itself is concerned, sir," he said, discomfort edging his words. O'Neill's unexplained smile was somewhat disconcerting.

Carter extricated herself from the computer. "Okay... let's give it another shot."

* * *

An hour and a half later, O'Neill had retreated to his office. There were too many technicians now working in the control room for him to reasonably explain his presence. He was buried in a particularly befuddling expenses review when there was a knock on his office door.

Carter entered, shutting the door gently behind her.

"Colonel?" he asked, a measure of pride still audible in his voice when he addressed her by her title.

"We're back online, sir."

"Excellent."

There was a beat of awkward silence.

"I should get going. It's still technically my day off," she said after a moment.

"And mine. Did you... uh, did you enjoy last night?"

She smiled. "Yeah. It was... different."

"Not your sort of thing?" he asked, shrewdly.

She half-sighed, half-chuckled. "Not really. But that doesn't mean I didn't enjoy it," she added hastily.

"Hey, it's fine by me. Pizza and a DVD works out a _lot _cheaper than opera tickets."

She laughed. "We've still got four DVD discs worth of _Lord of the Rings_ to get through."

He rubbed his chin, still unshaven after his hasty exit earlier in the day. "Well, whenever's good for you. Just tell me and I'll be round with a take-out and the box-sets."

_Did that sound too desperate?_

She gulped. "You busy tonight?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light, casual, uncaring...

_Oh God. That sounded desperate._

"I am now."


	10. Life, the Universe and Everything

O'Neill cursed his stupidity and forgetfulness, and tried subtly to distract himself with the remnants of his Chinese take-out. On screen, Eowyn sang a lament for her deceased cousin. He chanced a glance at his companion's face. Carter was absorbed in the film, a frown creasing her forehead and her lips pressed so tightly together they were white.

"_A Simblemynëë. Ever has it grown on the tombs of my fore bearers. Now it shall cover the grave of my son. Alas that these evil days should be mine– "_

He stood up, too violently.

She looked up at him, surprised. "You okay?"

"_No parent should have to bury their child."_

Her gaze flickered back to the screen and understanding dawned. She hit the pause button as he sat back down, filthily angry with himself for making such a scene, for ruining everything, again with his stupidity an–

She touched his hand tentatively, not knowing what to say. "Do you... do you want to talk about it?"

He sighed heavily. "I'm sorry. I... I don't know why I..." He stopped. "Yes. But... there's nothing to say..."

"I'm sorry, Jack." she murmured, her eyes overbright.

She embraced him, instinctively, wrapping her arms around him and as the sobs began ripping themselves from his chest. He wept into her shoulder, hating himself for his weakness but unable to stop. A deep grief was being drawn out of him, like a poison. She kissed the side of his face, holding him until the heaving of his shoulders slowed and stopped and he drew away, wiping tears from his cheeks.

"Don't you dare apologise," she warned him, "Don't you dare." His hand was still clasped in hers.

He dropped his gaze to their entwined hands, moving his fingers so they were knitted together. He swallowed. "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me. I've... I've always wanted to be a friend to you," she said, a tear of her own slipping down her cheeks. "Wanted to... to be there for you, in a capacity greater than your subordinate. Like Daniel is. And Teal'c."

He kissed her, unthinkingly, the taste of salt a bitter sting in the sweetness of the gesture. "I know," he said, "Me too."

She turned the TV screen off with the remote. "Do you... um.. Do you want to... talk?"

"Talk?"

"I mean, life the universe and everything kind of talking. We've never done that. Not... Not properly." She shook her head, embarrassed. "Forget I–"

"No. I want to talk."

"Oh good."

"Talk about what?"

She closed her eyes and sighed. "Well, now you say that I can't think of a topic of conversation."

"Why did you split up with Pete?"

_Ouch. Score one, Jack O'Neill._

"Why did you split up with Kerry?" she shot back.

His eyes widened. "Kerry? I... I... She dumped me because I was in love with another woman."

"In love?" she murmured, voice faltering slightly.

He wished he could take back the words, words that had obviously shaken her. But why regret them? They were truthful.

"In love," he repeated hoarsely.

"Then," she said, hesitantly, "Then you understand why I split up with Pete. Because I was... in love... with another man."

He wasn't aware of drawing closer to her, but suddenly his nose was bumping against hers. "In love?" he whispered, his mouth so close she felt his lips brush her own, his soft breath on her mouth.

She kissed him in reply.

He realised they had ended up lying full length on her sofa for a second time, the weight of his body pinning her to the soft seat. He kissed her again.

Her hands were resting on his shoulders; she found there was an indefinable thrill in their breadth, the hard muscle and bone beneath her fingers and his shirt. He was thinning as he aged, she realised, the body hidden from her was a battle-scarred and battered one, hardened by a harsh life.

Shanahan had been stocky, well muscled, certainly, but possessing a... a softness that betrayed donuts shared on stakeouts, a physique obtained in a gym and rarely tested in the field. A teddy-bear softness, she supposed, comforting and pleasant...

...But not possessing the sexuality of the sharp edges and roughness of O'Neill.

There was something infinitely more desirable about his dangerousness, his darkness. The kisses he gave when not thinking were far more demanding and fierce than Pete's, than _any_ man she had ever kissed. He was far _colder_, holding so much more inside him than Shanahan, who had worn his heart on his sleeve. O'Neill hid so much from everyone; there was always a tantalising hint of the tumultuous emotions that raged inside him, but trying to extract anything from him than bitter cynicism and anger was notoriously difficult. The fact that she aroused so much passion in a man who's emotions often threatened but rarely did break an egg-shell thin veneer of calm was exhilarating.

He was her equal, in a way she sensed Shanahan could never have been. His love had been hard-won, borne of respect and appreciation of her considerable natural talents as well as a healthy dislike of her science. He loved her in spite of their differences, loved the parts of her that were a broken as he was, the parts of her Pete had never known. He had seen her kill men who had thought their cause as righteous as her own and did not judge her for it. He was not afraid to show his anger to her and would not look for forgiveness even in wrong: he was as stubborn as she was.

She had thought Pete and Jack were similar, she realised, as his fingers wound themselves into her hair. Now she realised Pete was a mere shadow of Jack, a dilute and sanitised version of the man she had loved for almost as long as she had known him.

She realised he was staring at her. "What?" he asked, his voice rough.

She smiled lazily, a grin she unthinkingly copied from him. "Nothin'"

He trailed kisses from her earlobe and down her neck to where the hem of her tee shirt interrupted the smooth scoop of skin. "Life the universe and everything, eh?"

He wasn't going to move, she knew; he was enjoying lying on top of her far too much. So was she, for that matter. It was... a gesture of the newfound closeness they had only recently achieved, tinged with lust but mostly fashioned from comfortableness with one another.

"Mmm," she replied, "Shall we start simple?"

"Sounds good to me."

"Hmm. What was your... childhood ambition?"

He shrugged. "Didn't have one."

"Oh come on..."

"I wasn't exactly a... a Sam Carter at school."

She snorted with laughter. "You were a rebel without a cause?"

He kissed the end of her nose. "Sounds about right. I used to spend most of my time skipping classes, smoking and stealing cars."

"You sound like the kind of boy I _hated_." Her brain caught up with her ears. "Stealing _cars_?"

"Yeah."

"Wow."

"Do you hate me now?" he asked, only half-joking.

She shook her head. "What made you join the Air Force?"

"The lesser of two evils."

Her eyes widened in shock. "You could join up or go to _jail_?"

"Like I said, I wasn't exactly a Sam Carter at school."

"You don't know what I was like," she said, prodding him.

"I can guess."

"Go on. Be kind."

"Hmm. I think you were one of the talkative intelligent types. Not one of the nerdy geeks who sat at the back and said nothing. One of those kids that was always annoying the teacher with awkward questions. You were going to be an astronaut, the first woman to go and do something amazing in space."

"Good guess," she conceded.

"And you achieved your ambition," he added.

"Yeah... I guess I did."

"I bet falling for your old and crotchety CO didn't figure anywhere in those plans," he said softly.

"As falling in love with a science geek didn't figure in yours," she reminded him.

He chuckled. "I'd never call you a geek. You're too good a soldier for that."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

It seemed an appropriate time to kiss her again. He was so absorbed in the feel of her lips on his, the way the movement of her tongue against his coincided with his stomach turning somersaults, that he didn't notice she was unbuttoning his shirt at first.

"Hey," he said, taking her hands in his larger ones. "Whatcha doin'?"

She gave him a grey look, the kind he thought he had the monopoly on.

"Sam..." he said, his resolution fading as she kissed his throat. She slid her hand underneath his half-open shirt, her callused thumb tracing the line of his oblique muscles. It was a quirk of his body, that he'd always found the effect of such an action to be the complete tripping of the switch controlling pretty much all of his mental capacity.

He responded by kissing her, pushing downwards against her with no selfless concern for her comfort. He felt her mouth move under his, grinning.

He could guess the cause.

"It's my sidearm," he began.

"I swear," she finished, smiling.

"Just so we're clear on that."


	11. Not Meant To Be

He supposed romantic music, flickering candle-light and rose petals on the bed would have been a cliche. A gesture of romance that he didn't really posses.

There was something a lot more _honest _about her leading him by the hand to her room, a guilty smile on her face.

If he'd ever imagined her room, this wasn't how he had pictured it. There was a clutter that Carter didn't allow anywhere else in her life, a softness she rarely let anyone else see in her comfy-looking pillows and bed-spread.

Growing impatient with watching him appraise her bedroom she kissed him again. Her heels met the edge of her bed and she let herself be tipped gently backwards. His lips were on her neck again, the roughness of the sprinkling of stubble prickling pleasantly against her skin. She pulled his open shirt off, over his shoulders.

He kissed her face, lips touching the fine lines on her forehead, tracing the curve of her cheek and ending on her lips. She took his face in her hands, thumb tracing the line of the scar that bisected his left eyebrow, the sharp angles of his jaw. He smoothed her mussed hair with a hand, wishing stupidly that he felt, or at least looked, a little younger. Her gentle outlining of the lines of his face had made him feel very old.

Her hands continued, moving across his broad shoulders while she kissed his temple where the remaining brown colour in his hair, diluted by the speckled silver, faded completely. His hands slid underneath her tee shirt as she slipped her own under his arms so that she could grip his shoulders and pull him closer, burying her face in his neck. Her tee shirt was pulling at the back; she released him and pulled it over her head, earning herself a devilishly quirked eyebrow in response that sent a shiver that had nothing to do with cold or fear down her spine. Her un-Bridget Jones-like decision to wear underwear designed for appearance rather than practicality had apparently paid off.

He was surprised, she realised, and she found herself laughing.

"No giggling," he admonished, "I think–"

_Brrrring! Brrrring!_

–the cheerful tinkle of his cell-phone ringing interrupted him.

In the confines of his head he swore very loudly.

"Ignore it," she murmured.

He grimaced. "Only the SGC have the number."

He dug the trilling machine out of the back pocket of the jeans she'd been considering removing.

"O'Neill."

His face seemed to sharpen as he said his name she realised, as he assumed the persona of commander of the SGC. She shifted position slightly, earning herself a wide-eyed warning glance.

"Jack? It's Daniel here. Is Sam with you?"

"Uh... yeah."

"Oh good. You're both needed on base."

"Why?"

"The dialling computer's crashed again. And we think that someone might be trying to dial in."

* * *

Someone was shaking her shoulders.

She lifted her head muzzily, the piles of reports she had fallen asleep on at some point so late in the night it had technically been the next morning shifting slightly.

"Did you spend _all_ of last night asleep on your desk?" the shaker demanded. It was Jack and she groaned as he flicked on the main lab lights, blinking owlishly.

"No," she lied.

"I told you to get some rest after you got the computer system back up. What happened?"

"I just had to run a few simulations. Some of our control systems are approaching their tenth birthday and we need to overhaul. I was trying to come up with a plan that won't have the 'gate offline for a great length of time so we can fix things."

He sighed. "You want to get some breakfast?"

She nodded. "Yes, actually I would. Coffee is a must."

They walked in companionable silence to the commissary. After a few sips of the steaming black coffee Carter was beginning to feel human again. O'Neill bought her a bowl of oatmeal to the table and she smiled her thanks. "Did SG-7 make it back okay?"

"Yeah, no real problems. Doctor Lee sprained an ankle, that's why they were trying to 'gate back early. They decided to wait and try again later before going to the alpha site as they were in no immediate danger, give them a chance to further explore. Didn't find anything greatly interesting in those ruins though."

"Shame."

He grinned, chin resting on his hand. "Sam..?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Please tell me you're not still wearing that-uh-that..."

She laughed, half in indignation. "When would I have had chance to change it?"

He covered his eyes with his hands, a glinting brown eye peering out at her between his fingers. "I'm never going to be able to look at you in BDUs the same way again."

"Why?"

His chin found its way back to his hand. She remembered that dreamy look in his eyes from a long time ago...

He blushed slightly. "Because I'll always be thinking about what you might have on underneath."

She raised her eyebrow in a gesture disturbingly reminiscent of Teal'c. She steepled her fingers, speaking over the top of her fingertips. "You... are a very bad man."

His grin widened. "The very worst."

His feet bumped against hers under the table as she dug her spoon into her oatmeal, the fluttering in her stomach nothing to do with hunger.

"Hey guys!"

She nearly dropped her spoon as Daniel spoke behind her. He dropped into the seat next to O'Neill. "You finish your simulations, Sam?"

She found it hard not to laugh as O'Neill shot an unnoticed, murderous glance at the young archeologist. "Not quite. I was just having some breakfast before I finished them off."

O'Neill sighed quietly. Some things, he supposed, were just not meant to be.


End file.
